Dreaming
by XxEviexX
Summary: Many years separate me from that night—that fateful night oh so long ago. In a time so distant it barely seems real. A past life, maybe. Or the phantom of one." Christine dreams every night of that past life, contemplating on her Angel of Music. C/P


**A/N** _My first piece for Phantom. Basically, I saw the movie and was blown away. I haven't yet read the book, unfortunately, but this couldn't wait._

_Dedicated to Lizzy, for introducing me. =]_

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Many years separate me from that night—that fateful night _oh so long_ ago. In a time so distant it barely seems real. A past life, maybe. Or the phantom of one.

Many, many days have passed since then. Days of happiness, sometimes sadness. Always love. Days always spent with my love beside me. Our days full of nostalgic reminiscing about our childhood, which oddly seems much closer than that other life. Perhaps it's because that childhood belongs so fully with the life I lead now—silly, innocent romance to mature, firm relationship. The two belong as perfectly as light does with day, as if that past life, like an eclipse, had never interrupted the chronicle of our ongoing paths.

Years full of joy. Days full of sun.

Nights full of music.

He never mentions that night anymore; neither do I. All is forgotten during our happy daylight hours with each other.

Yet night is when my mind visits that distant life, even as I feel my husband's slow, deep breathing on my cheek. It's these times when I float in a land somewhere between reality and unconsciousness. I am able to hear the music—_oh so clearly_—in my mind. My eyes grow heavy and I am lulled to the land of slumber, whisked away on the wings of a beautiful, sweet melody. A deceiving melody, overlaying stygian, mysterious harmonies just elusive enough to escape my gripping mental fingers. My head is instantly intoxicated and muddled by the complex simplicity of the bittersweet song, just as it is every night.

The seductive music is interwoven with whispers, forming a tapestry of sound—so impossible to separate that they become one.

_Christine. Christine. Christine… _

I hear my name whispered by those invisible, desperate lips, and I think at last of my Angel of Music.

The murderer. The madman. These words are staccato and harsh, not belonging to the smooth, legato flow of the beauteous melody.

The Phantom of my phantom life. The haunter of his kingdom, his domain.

His hell.

My Fallen Angel, forever imprisoned by the gates of his own hell, dreaming of the heaven he can never have. His insanity, his love.

The mournful music tells of his fate—so delicately interlaced with my own. It calls to me, his pain, and I feel saddened. The feeling fits the mood of his—my? —song, adding a new layer of heartache to the harmony.

I hear his voice, and he sings to me. He sings songs of olden days lost, those from when I myself was still imprisoned in many ways. Yet not unhappy. I always had my Angel of Music.

His songs flow well with the symphony, and I realize for the thousandth time since I left the melancholy that has always inhabited his voice. The sound alone tells many stories of his enslavement, his yearning to be free.

His yearning for love. _My_ love.

I once again feel his lips on mine, moving in once-unfamiliar patterns, and the music climaxes. I feel his passion, his obsession, his desperation, his adoration.

The breaking of his heart.

The music reaches its final bars, and it makes one last ritard, trying to slow time before it runs out completely. A fermata…

The music starts again—resignedly, sorrowfully—and finally reaches its last notes. They trail off, and soon just become echoes of pain.

A vision accompanies the end of the music—black, white, and scarlet. A rose.

I jerk to consciousness with the salt of tears on my lips, wondering if I've been asleep or awake.

Either way, I've been dreaming.

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_**A/N **__Ten thousand million trillion thanks to Nikki (firexatxwill) for the beta. You rule. _

_How about a list of musical terms?_

_Staccato – short, sharply detached note._

_Legato – smooth, flowing notes (context clues, much?)_

_Ritard __(not retard__) – a stretching of the notes; slowing down_

_Fermata – a hold on a particular note._

_I hope I didn't have to explain melody and harmony. :X _

_Hope you liked it. =] Critique encouraged. _


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